


Priority One

by Lirelyn



Series: The Long Slow Yes Job [4]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e15 The Big Bang Job, M/M, Mid-Canon, Multi, Nightmares, Parker and Hardison have had a lot of time to work out nightmare protocols, Post-Canon, making progress with the whole guilt thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirelyn/pseuds/Lirelyn
Summary: Eliot has their back, always. Even when it doesn't play out the way they'd expect.Even when it doesn't play out the way Eliot would expect.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Series: The Long Slow Yes Job [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672750
Comments: 31
Kudos: 319





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 takes place in s3, in the middle of The Big Bang Job.
> 
> Chapter 2 takes place post-canon, sometime shortly after the end of the previous work in this series.

Hardison was angry at him, bone-deep angry, like he’d never been once in the three years they’d known each other. That was okay; Eliot was not on great terms with Eliot right now either, and Hardison had more right than anyone to be furious.

The anger wasn’t a problem, but there was something he needed to clear up. He needed the team to know that he had their back, always; his job would get a lot harder if they didn’t. And it couldn’t wait, because tomorrow was going to be bad news no matter what. He’d seen missions collapse and people die because a tiny fracture in trust blew wide open when the chips were down. If tomorrow did go to hell, it wasn’t going to be because Hardison had stopped counting on Eliot to be there when he needed him.

“Hardison,” he said, stopping the other man halfway out the door. “Come back for a second.”

It was the damnedest thing. Anyone else, they’d have gotten angrier at being called back by the person they were pissed at, but Hardison, if anything, softened a little. He looked Eliot dead in the eyes, and he was glaring, but it was a glare that was ready to be talked to. Eliot was suddenly distracted by a flood of things he could say about that afternoon, and it took him a second to get his brain back on track to the one thing he actually needed Hardison to hear.

“Getting you out safe: that’s priority one. Always.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m telling you: me jumping in after you, in front of Moreau and all his men? That wasn’t gonna save your life. Not in any world I could see. It was just gonna mean you died slower.” 

Hardison frowned, not getting it.

“He’d have known we were lying, Hardison. He’d have wanted the truth, and he’d have seen — he’d have just seen his best shot of getting it out of me.”

Now he got it, and his eyes widened. Eliot’s voice suddenly went husky, to his own annoyance.

“I just need you —” he cleared his throat — “need you to know. Priority one. That ain’t never gonna change and it didn’t today.”

“Seems like next time you should maybe go in with a backup plan,” said Hardison. Eliot could see that he got it, that his worst doubts were quieted, but also that he still wanted to talk. He always wanted to talk more, it was comforting to him for some unimaginable reason, and Eliot was dead tired but today he couldn’t deny him.

“I had one.”

“And when were you gonna use that?”

“In two and a half seconds, if Moreau hadn’t pulled out the key when he did.” He’d been very, _very_ aware of the passage of time.

“And that, that would have been a worse plan?”

“Worse from a lot of angles. Including the chances of getting you out safe.”

He didn’t want to talk about what the backup plan was, didn’t ever want Hardison to imagine him doing what he could have done, which was drop every man in the room in the time it took an air bubble to rise to the surface of the pool. He didn’t want to imagine _himself_ doing it. He hoped he’d never have to do something like that again, but this was looking like a bad week for that kind of hope.

He knew what Hardison needed to hear, and it wasn’t the details of Eliot’s exit strategy. “I wasn’t gonna let you die, Hardison. One way or another: that wasn’t gonna be what happened.”

_And if it had, because Eliot always did have a backup plan even for the worst-case, most unthinkable scenarios, no man in that room would have gotten out alive. In those endless seconds staring down Moreau, he’d promised himself that at least._

“Besides, I may not have known about the chair, but I knew you’d come up with something. You always do.”

Straightforward praise from Eliot was rare enough to distract Hardison from the darker questions this conversation raised. Which was, of course, the point.

“Damn right I do,” he said, “and it’s a good thing for _all_ y’all’s asses that I do.”

Good. He was pulling attitude; balance was restored.

Eliot must have let too much show along with his relief, because Hardison snapped back to serious. “Hey,” he said, searching Eliot’s face. Eliot was so tired, much too tired for whatever Hardison was going to say next, even if it was just _You good, man?_

But what Hardison said was, “This was a bad day, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Eliot. “Yeah.” Bad day. Bad week. Bad six months, and it was going to get worse before it got better.

“I’m about to watch the hell out of some Sylvester McCoy, they’re doing a marathon, wanna sit up and watch with me?”

The no was halfway out of Eliot’s mouth — he had no idea what a Sylvester McCoy was but he assumed it was nerdy and he’d hate it — but he didn’t actually want to go home. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. He wasn’t going to be able to meditate or read or even cook, and the amount of working out he’d have to do to get out from under the weight of today — well, it wouldn’t leave him in great shape to handle tomorrow. Compared to a long night of dealing with himself, with all his normal coping resources scraped bare, watching cartoons or whatever with Hardison sounded downright peaceful.

Sylvester McCoy turned out to be a weird old British thing. Eliot didn’t even really try to follow it, although one of the characters reminded him a little of Parker. He leaned his head back and let the high electronic music and senseless technobabble wash over him, crowding out his thoughts. After a while he turned his head to the side and just watched Hardison watching: Hardison leaning forward and grinning, Hardison chuckling at some line that made no sense to Eliot. Hardison breathing.

He was surprised to find, when Hardison shook him awake in the pale hours of the morning, that he’d slept a little after all.


	2. Now

Hardison’s frantic gasp and cry had Eliot on his feet and in the other room before he even knew he was awake. Parker was up too, leaning over and whispering in Hardison’s ear, but Eliot thought at first that she must be sleep-talking because he heard her say “Water or earth?” and that was nonsense.

But Hardison whispered, “Water,” and in response Parker wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him and nuzzled her face into his shoulder while he curled into a ball, shaking.

The thing was, Eliot recognized that gasp; he’d heard it with a stony face, staring into the eyes of his worst enemy, while his heart shattered with relief. The sound had been etched into his mind like a song you couldn’t shake, and he heard it occasionally in his own dreams, and he felt sickly certain that he knew what ‘water’ meant.

Parker looked up at him over Hardison’s shoulder. “If it’s water, you hold him tight as you can. If it’s earth, you throw off all the blankets and sit up and hold his hand.” She said it like she was passing on instructions that he might need someday, which in this of all moments Eliot felt was far from likely. Hardison was shaking. Hardison was frightened. Hardison had had a nightmare, and Eliot had given it to him.

Parker’s face creased, reading Eliot even in the dim room. “We all have nightmares,” she said shortly, and turned her face back to the crook of Hardison’s neck. Okay. Right. This wasn’t about him, not right now.

“Can I do anything?” he asked. Hardison held out a hand, and Eliot took it, held it tight. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped both his hands around Hardison’s.

Hardison squeezed back and his shaking slowed down. Still seeming half-asleep, he whispered, “you weren’t gonna let me...”

“Never,” said Eliot, teeth gritted. “Not a chance.”

Parker smiled up like she was proud of him. How could she be proud of him? How often had Hardison had this exact nightmare, that she knew just what it was and what to do? Did she not understand that it was Eliot’s fault he had it at all? Not for leaving him at the bottom of the pool so long — he’d played that part the only way he could — but for bringing him there in the first place. He’d known what they were likely walking into, and he’d chosen to take Hardison there, and how either of them could forget or forgive that was beyond him.

Hardison’s sides were rising and falling more evenly, and Eliot thought he had fallen back asleep, until he said distinctly, “I can hear you moping from here.”

“I ain’t moping,” said Eliot automatically, and Hardison rolled his face up out of the pillow.

“Damn god complex almost as bad as Nate’s,” he muttered, “thinking everything stops and starts with you. Listen, my man, that ain’t the only nightmare I have and it ain’t even the worst one. Job like ours, bad stuff is bound to happen sometimes, and you’re gonna claim it’s all on you?”

“That one was,” said Eliot hoarsely. “I took you into that world. I shoulda known it wouldn’t let you leave without getting a hook in you too.”

“Oh my god, the _drama!”_ Hardison flopped onto his back to roll his eyes at Parker, though he still gripped Eliot’s hand tightly. “Who’d believe Eliot Spencer is the most dramatic sumbitch out of all of us?” He turned back to Eliot, eyes glittering in the dark. “I had no idea admitting feelings was gonna bring out this side of you. You used to be practical about this kind of thing.”

Eliot blinked rapidly. “I didn’t — I don’t— that’s not what it’s about!”

Hardison winced. “Shh, man, I’m still shaky.” His tone sounded like he was teasing, but the hand he held did tremble when Eliot shouted.

Parker’s clear voice broke through the new wave of guilt. “What he means is, you look forward, not back. You don’t get stuck on bad stuff you’ve done, you figure out what good stuff you can do next.”

She was right, dammit, and Hardison was right: that was as close to a core life philosophy as he had. Why did he keep getting tripped up on it when it came to Hardison? _Because you want him so bad, and you could actually have him, and that throws off every bit of balance you’ve got._ Well. Fine. He’d show that unruly heart - brain - gut - whatever - who was boss.

“What can I do, now?” he asked. In answer, Hardison rolled over, curling around Parker with his back to Eliot, bringing Eliot’s hand to drape over his side. Then he let the hand go, because he wasn’t going to make Eliot stay anywhere he didn’t want to be, but the ask was clear. Eliot hovered, hand resting on Hardison’s side, feeling it rise and sink. He did want to stay, and that was what made it hard: he wanted to wrap his arms tight around the other man, let his body be a promise that nothing like that would ever happen to him again. It wasn’t desire, not tonight, but it was an ache just as strong.

That kind of ache — _and_ the other kind — usually meant he was going to deny himself, reflexively, but what was the good of that if it meant denying Hardison too? He lay down slowly, sliding his hand up Alec’s arm, fitting his chest against the curve of his back. Alec gave a small easy sigh, and Parker’s hand fluttered up to give Eliot’s a soft pat.

So here he was, holding him — them — and the world didn’t seem to be falling apart. There had to be some kind of disaster coming, or why did alarms ring so loudly in his head any time he even thought about doing something like this? He waited, but there was only soft breathing in the dark.

He pressed them both closer.

He had them in his arms and they were all safe.

When sleep came, it was deep and free of dreams.


End file.
